


The Essentials of Good Manners

by TGP



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Possibly overpowered!Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 14:39:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4610517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TGP/pseuds/TGP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where Harry Potter didn't bring danger and mayhem pounding on the doors of Hogwarts, Hermione Granger expected nothing strange about her sixth year. That changes when she meets a strange boy covered in tattooed runes who never answers questions and fosters dozens. She doesn't know where he'll lead her - ignoring him isn't an option - but maybe he's exactly the kind of friend she needs. </p><p>If his secrets don't kill her first, anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Essentials of Good Manners

**Author's Note:**

> So this story is kind of strange. I have a very rough plot worked out but most of what I keep wanting to write are little friendship things, so there's to be a lot of that amid the actual long plot. Anyway.
> 
> Lots of characters are going to be different, as they formed different friendships (or none) and didn't have to face danger every year, and the history itself is a little tweaked. The ways this happened will be slowly revealed. :D

_In 1981, the Dark Lord He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named murdered James and Lily Potter as part of his attempted takeover of the Wizarding World, and then died at the hands of their infant son. The boy disappeared into protective custody amid celebrations that at last the war was over and for years after, he existed as a saint and savior, despite never being seen. Harry became one of the more popular baby names for the next year and then tapered back down after that._

_The Wizarding World changed little until 1992 when young Potter reappeared just outside of Hogsmeade amid an altercation involving a group of formerly unknown Death Eaters. The resulting altercation killed nine and injured several dozen others. Potter went back into obscurity and various Ministry investigations into the event saw him as a direct cause of the violence, but no charges could be levied because the boy could not be found. He is still wanted for questioning._

_A so called Dark Lord took responsibility for the attack, declaring that he was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Name reborn. He disappeared afterward but has claimed responsibility for several disastrous events through the next four years that took several lives. It is the opinion of the Ministry that he is an imposter but dangerous none the less. The search for him is ongoing._

\----

Hermione Granger is often toted by teachers as the cleverest witch of her year. She backs that up with high marks in every class, more often than not top student or at least in the top three. What she doesn’t tell people is that the studying isn’t just from her immense love of knowledge (which does overshadow most everything); it’s also the only way she can compete against her classmates.

Hermione is not well thought of at any time except right before exams when people want study guides and tutoring. She doesn’t know how to talk to people, not really, and she doesn’t have much interest in the pursuits of makeup and boys (or at least not enough to matter) which hasn’t won her any friends with the girls her age. The prevailing myth, as she understands the overheard rumors, is that she either thinks herself above that or is too much of a lost cause to be bothered. She’s not sure which she likes worse.

Hermione isn’t pretty and when boys talk to her about anything other than class, she tends to run her mouth about whatever comes to mind ad nauseam until their faces go blank and they simply walk away. She’s never known quite how to fix this and her teachers often remark that when she’s older and the other students have matured to her level, things will be different. She doesn’t really believe that, but Hermione isn’t about to let that keep her back from dreams of working as a ministry researcher. She doesn’t know exactly what she wants to research, but a life of academia seems so very perfect. After all, then she’d only have to deal with books and other researchers, who likely would have the same problems she does.

Going to Defense Against the Dark Arts class (which really is just such a joke. They never learn anything useful in the practicals,) a classmate knocks into her shoulder on the way through the door. Hermione stumbles, barely keeping hold of her books, and shoots a dirty look towards the tall boy.

Ron Weasley never seems to know just how big he is, all ridiculous height and wild limbs, but at least he calls back an absent apology before dropping into a seat next to Dean and leaving Hermione off his radar once again. It hurts to be dismissed, as it always does, because Hermione has seen him be kind before and wouldn’t it be nice if he were kind to _her_. (Or more, but Hermione doesn’t let herself think like that. Especially not about a boy who won’t look at her. Besides, Ron’s ego is ridiculous and she really doesn’t want anything to do with him after all.)

The thing is, she’s gotten used to being dismissed. It’s almost a skill at this point how quickly she’s able to shake it off. She allows herself a moment of congratulations of her own resilience.

Hermione gets to her seat, right in front and near the door. She’ll have to run to get to the next class and this way, she won’t have to fight the hoard to get out of the classroom. As she sets up her quill and ink for note taking, Professor Lockhart glides inside to begin the lesson with a flurry of shiny, yellow glitter. The first year he’d been there, Hermione had eagerly jotted down every word he said, immersing herself in the stories of his bravery and gallantry. Years later and she tends to spend her time instead taking careful notes on whatever book of his they’re reading that year and then reads the textbooks other teachers used in years before while he babbles along saying absolutely nothing useful to her. She’s lucky the library has kept at least one copy of any text book assigned for any class, with updated editions.

Professor Lockhart always says at the end of the year that he may not be back, lured by adventure, but he’s always there at the beginning of the next. Personally, Hermione thinks he’s grown tired of the danger and maybe just wants a cozy position to rest with. She doesn’t blame him for that. Heaven knows she wouldn’t want to be out and about with all manner of dangerous creatures.

It’s the middle of the period when the door opens and Professor McGonagall waves Lockhart to her. They speak in fierce whispers and then Lockhart laughs even though McGonagall could not look any more grim than she already does. Hermione doesn’t like this. There’s a twitch in the back of her throat as she watches disgust pull over McGonagall’s face at Lockhart’s obvious dismissal of whatever the problem is. McGonagall leaves with sharp movements and her lips pressed in a tight white line. Hermione studies Lockhart, eyes narrowing because his smile has become forced and he seems not quite hyper, but hurried. He ends class twenty minutes later, very early, and then sprints out the door ahead of them. Hermione is more convinced that something is wrong.

Shaking her head, she realizes this has nothing to do with her. If the students are to be involved, they’ll be told. Instead, she starts making a more leisurely way towards her next class. Maybe she’ll be lucky and Professor Vector won’t mind her hanging around before class starts. At least there she would get some quiet.

However, part way to the classroom, Hermione stops. A boy she doesn’t recognize stands in front of a window, halfway down an adjacent hall. He can’t be much older than her but he doesn’t wear a uniform. The boy has a sturdy look to him and his black hair flies wild around his head and over his ears, curling along his neck. Wisps of it stand on end. He has his hands stuffed in the pockets of his loose, red over robe, and what she can see of his face seems… almost sad?

There’s little reason a strange boy would be at the school, as far as Hermione can imagine. She supposes he might be visiting one of the professors, maybe a son or nephew or grandson, but wouldn’t a visitor be with the person they were visiting instead of staring at the grounds as if they were a deeply moving sight?

The boy tenses suddenly and jerks his head around to stare at her. He has _remarkable_ eyes behind his round glasses. Even from far off, she can make out the bright green color of them under the messy fringe of black hair. His lips twitch, one side lifting into an awkward smile as he waves a bit. Then he turns and starts quickly escaping the other way.

Hermione thinks about it only a moment. There’s no reason to think he might be up to something, but she remembers the way that McGonagall looked, how Lockhart had left so quickly… Well. She’s not a Gryffindor for nothing, apparently. Hermione goes after him and catches up quickly because he’s not running, at least not yet. He glances over his shoulder at her and then ducks down another hall as if to lose her. Hermione adjusts her heavy book bag and goes after him.

“Hey!” she calls finally and that’s when he breaks into a run. Hermione curses under her breath as she speeds after him. She’s gotten pretty good at lugging the ridiculous weight of her bag and speeding between classes over the years, so she keeps pace with him pretty well. The halls are empty since class is still in session (except for hers, apparently) so there’s no one to give them any strange looks.

It’s after the second flight of stairs that Hermione realizes they’re nearing the Astronomy tower. She works on corralling him, cutting off the other options. He’s been going at random enough that she’s fairly sure he doesn’t know his way around and maybe she can get him to a dead end in the tower. Two turns later and he goes right for the direct route up. Hermione grins to herself and hauls after him, cutting off the way down.

Right at the top, he trips over the last step and goes down hard on the landing. Hermione winces in sympathy but that doesn’t stop her from rushing up the rest of the way, pulling her wand as she goes.

“Who are you and what are you doing in the school?” she says with as much confidence as possible. Hermione’s not great at attack spells (the few that have actually been taught to her) but there’s no reason to let _him_ know that.

The boy rolls onto his back to look up at her. His glasses are cracked and he looks between her face and the point of her wand. His face is solemn. “Please don’t point that at me.”

“I don’t see how you’d expect I wouldn’t,” she shoots back with narrowed eyes. “You’re an intruder, aren’t you? I saw some of the professors whispering. What are you here for?”

He sighs. “I really, _really_ don’t like it when people point wands at me.”

“Tough. Would you answer my questions already?”

He sits up, slowly, like he thinks she’ll take a shot at him if he makes any sudden movements. And then the nose piece of his glasses snaps right down the middle and Hermione follows the descent of the pieces without thinking.

That second is all the boy needs to suddenly jerk into action, rolling to his feet in a smooth, catlike motion she can barely follow. A strong hand grip her wrist, pressing hard in a way that makes her fingers go numb almost instantly. Then he’s jumping back a few paces and her wand is in his hand and she’s not exactly sure what just happened. Hermione stares at him, less afraid and more outraged.

“You give that back!”

“Yeah, sure, how about not. Why were you chasing me?”

“Why were you _running?!_ ”

He blinks and Hermione decides that’s a point in her favor. She lifts her chin proudly despite the fact that some strange boy she doesn’t know has her at wand point. The way he holds the wand is sure and steady without any flourish. Whoever he is, he holds a wand like a well-worn tool, the way most of the teachers do.

“I guess that’s a fair question,” he admits, shrugging a little, and then he seems almost sheepish. “I, uh. I’m not really supposed to let anyone see me. Thought classes were still in session.”

“Lockhart let us out early. To run after you, I’d guess. ” She’s almost amused by the way he sags a bit, rolling his eyes.

“Oh goodie. Isn’t he just a joy.”

“Now answer who you are,” Hermione prompts and he winces, shrugging a shoulder.

“Oh, no one. That’s okay. Just some random bloke. Hey, that’s a pretty nice view of the grounds, eh?”

Hermione gives him the most baleful look she can muster.

“It really is nice,” he insists, lips turning unhappily. He takes a few careful steps back, keeping the wand pointed at her steadily, and glances out one, squinting to make up for the lack of glasses. If it weren’t for how easily he’d disarmed her, Hermione might have taken the chance of his attention lapse, but somehow she’s pretty sure he’s completely aware of her and any move she might make. The boy has been well trained but in what, she doesn’t know. Hermione watches the way his expression fills with a strange sort of wonder tempered with resignation as he takes in the lake. She doesn’t know what it means but it makes her stomach tighten into guilty knots.

The boy twitches suddenly and then pulls the sleeve of his over robe up off his right forearm. There are black marks on his skin and for a moment, she is terrified it might be a Dark Mark. However, a second look and she can tell there’s no skull, no snake. The black smudges look something like runes in careful patterns she doesn’t quite recognize from class, at least not at a distance. The boy frowns at whatever he sees in the marks even as he keeps the wand expertly aimed.

“All things come to an end,” he mutters sourly and that’s when Hermione hears hurried footsteps behind her. The boy gives a last look out the window and then turns the wand in his hand handle first, holding it out to her. She hesitates only a moment before taking it. The boy smiles, awkward and disappointed. “Nice meeting you.”

He stoops down to pick up the remains of his glasses and she doesn’t even think to train her wand on him, not with the way he’d just given it back like she’d never been any kind of threat to him in the first place. Which, honestly, kind of _burns._ Maybe she’ll do some research into dueling lessons.

The boy straightens up and looks down the stairway with reluctance but she sees the moment he breathes in deep and accepts whatever’s coming. He moves towards the steps.

“At least give me your name,” she finds herself saying before he can get far and he pauses with surprise. Then he smiles the fakest smile she’s ever seen.

“I’m- you know, I really shouldn’t.” He shakes his head a little. “You seem nice. I’d hate to wreck things for you.”

“I don’t see how just a name would do that,” she sniffs, feeling a bit that he’s trying to brush her off.

“You say that. Then you find out what it is and it’s all you think about. Believe me. I know how that works. It’s always the same.”

He tugs the sleeve to look at his arm again and from this angle, Hermione sees more detail. There are two rings of runes tattooed around his wrist and then a larger span of them in a delicate, circular design on the whole of his inner forearm. One, which she recognizes as runic shorthand for _friend_ , has taken on a blue tinge that gets brighter as the seconds pass. It’s some beautiful spellwork and Hermione itches to figure out exactly what it all does. She can also see the edges of more rune spans on the other side of his arm. The boy drops his hand again before she’s had nearly enough.

“It really was nice. Meeting you, I mean. Even like this.”He sounds so resigned, a little hopeless, and it tugs at her heart.

“I… suppose it wasn’t bad meeting you, either.”

He snorts, shoots her another smile that’s softer this time, more real, and then he’s heading down the stairs away from her. She only waits a few moments before she sneaks after him and sees the moment McGonagall and Lockhart round on him.

They don’t treat him like a stranger or an intruder. McGonagall has a long suffering expression and the boy stands close to her as Lockhart dresses him down for coming out into the open, complete with every flamboyant hand motion he can come up with. Lockhart goes on about danger and secrecy and ducking out of responsibilities and that’s the bit that gets the boy wincing. Thankfully, McGonagall takes over and waves Lockhart off.

“I’ll take him back. You go prepare for your next class.”

“Very well. I leave him in your more than capable hands. I’m sure he won’t behave so recklessly again, now will you?”

“No, Professor.”

“I thought not. Sometimes boys just need a little leash tugging, I always say. Don’t you agree, Minerva? You know, this reminds me of a story-”

“Which I’m sure can wait,” McGonagall says pointedly, her voice flat and lips a thin white line across her face.

“Oh, yes, of course.” Lockhart escapes with as much grace as one would expect and McGonagall sighs a little, giving the boy a glance. She gestures to his broken glasses and he lifts them up to inspect. Then, she fixes them with a muttered charm.

“You know what trouble you’ve caused,” she says bluntly.

“Yes, ma’am.” There’s no hint of backtalk. He obviously knew her well enough not to try.

“Did anyone see you?”

Hermione tenses but the boy responds without missing a beat. “No, ma’am.”

McGonagall relaxes a bit. “Good. Small miracles. Come along then. We’ll get you back to the catacombs.”

The boy follows her without a backwards glance, asking something about getting Professor Sprout to come look at his garden because everything is dying on him again, but they’re too far away for Hermione to hear the reply. She watches them until they disappear past a far corner and then tries to figure out what she even thinks about what she’d experienced.

The boy isn’t an intruder but he’d seemed so skittish about his name, like it meant something, and then there were the teachers keeping him out of sight (out of mind) and she terribly hates mysteries. Hermione doubts either McGonagall or Lockhart would tell her anything and she’s not sure who else she might ask. Still, the way he’d been so reluctant, she wondered if just asking might signal trouble.

Hermione trusts McGonagall at least not to be involved in some kind of dirty business and that’s what quiets her wild speculation. She goes on to class and tries to put the meeting out of her mind.

\----

Hours later, after everyone else has gone to bed, Hermione sits up with her stack of text books and continues working on her homework. Since third year, she has taken every class offered by the school except for Divination, which she opted out of after a single semester because Professor Trelawney is absolutely mad. The first semester had been the hardest but then she’d gotten used to the work load and figuring out the best way to use her Ministry sanctioned Time Turner to both attend all her classes and have time for homework and sleep.

As such, Hermione mercilessly organizes her time. She is strict with herself about getting homework done on the day it is assigned because the next day will bring a dozen new assignments for a dozen other classes. When her homework keeps her late into the night, she uses the turner to backtrack so that she can get enough sleep for the next day. It’s grueling but worth it and Hermione would not have it any other way. She’s determined to learn absolutely everything.

Though, she supposes it would be nice if she had a little free time here and there, but she’s not entirely sure what she would even do with it.

A shadow falls over her from behind, sometime after one in the morning. Hermione turns, intending to send off whoever it is that’s gone to bother her, and then stops. The boy stands behind her, an innocent expression on his face despite how he’d startled her. The red over-robe is missing and he’s down to a thin, dingy orange sweater and jeans, both of which have been magically mended but seen better days. They seem ridiculously comfortable.

“Is that Charms?” he asks, peering over her shoulder. “I’m fond of Charms.”

He pulls a chair up beside her and looks so eager that Hermione can’t help but start explaining her current essay (“Advanced Applications for Atmospheric Charms”) which the boy eagerly eats up. They end up talking for nearly an hour before Hermione has run out of things to say.

“What are you doing here?” she asks finally. The boy blinks a little.

“Discussing atmospheric charms?”

She gives him a look. “It didn’t seem like you’re supposed to be roaming around here.”

“Well. You’ve seen me already. Does it look like the world is ending to you?”

She looks at him harder. He signs and rolls his eyes in a way that somehow uses his entire body. Slumping back in his chair, he rubs at one eye and stares off at the rest of the common room.

“Can we please not do this?” he asks suddenly. “The thing where you needle at me and I clam up and then I never visit you again because I know it’ll happen and I can’t say anything?”

“Why not?” Because it is starting to grate at her how much she doesn’t know.

He reaches up and tugs the collar of his sweater down until she can see his collar bone. More runes, these smaller and more delicate than those on his arms, trace a path under his collar bone. She recognizes the pattern and most of the runes themselves, but she’s never seen them used this way. These are advanced patterns and sequences, the kind she could only expect to learn through apprenticeship. The implications of _silent_ and _secure_ injunction with _protection_ and _vigilance_ make a shiver go down her back. Someone went to a lot of trouble to keep this boy from revealing anything.

“Please don’t look that way,” he says, letting go of his collar and leaning in towards her again. “I liked it better before, when you were annoyed with me.”

“…You’re assuming a lot to think I’m _not_ ,” she manages after a moment and his expression softens.

“Tell me more about atmospheric charms?”

“Do you really like them that much?”

“Well. No. Actually, it’s dreadfully boring, but really, I’d rather you kept going if that’s okay.”

He’s blunt and honest and eager and Hermione has never had someone focus this kind of attention on her. It’s different than when her classmates want to study up before a test or have her look over an essay. He is intensely interested in _her_ studies, not his own, and it flatters her down to the core.

She’s spent on charms so they chatter about her transfiguration paper (“The Fundamentals of Animagus Transformation”) and then on through the rest of her assignments. He takes active interest in all of it and whoever he is, he’s getting some kind of education because he matches her point for point, keeps up a stream of thoughtful questions, and has some definite opinions about the use of dittany in ground verses shredded form. The only thing he seems to not care about is her DADA essay.

They talk until it’s nearly light out and Hermione’s yawning with exhaustion. The boy leaves before anyone else gets up and Hermione finally takes herself to bed, twisting back the Time Turner to start the night over.

\----

He doesn’t show again for a week. And then it’s standing right outside the shower when she gets out and she lets him have every blistering, terrible jinx she knows for the upset. He blocks every one with frustrating ease amid a stream of apologies before disappearing out into the dorm. He’s gone when Hermione marches after him and then Lavender Brown stares at her from near her bed, hands frozen in the act of buttoning up her shirt.

“Where did he go?” Hermione demands.

“Who?”

“The-” She barely remembers not to mention him through the heat of her anger and then snarls out, “ _Nevermind._ ”

Lavender spends the day staring here and there like she’s afraid Hermione’s gone absolutely around the bend.

It’s only a mild consolation that she finds a gift card to Flourish and Blotts sitting innocently on her pillow a few days later, “I’m sorry” scrawled messily in one corner. Hermione considers ripping it up just for spite’s sake, but instead she decides she’s going to buy the most boring, longwinded book she can find and force him to read it to her until he cries uncle.

(As it so happens, she doesn’t actually do this. The money is spent on a set of magical defense books because now that she knows her own weakness, Hermione cannot stand to let it be.)

\----

“I can’t keep not calling you anything,” Hermione decides one day after they’d been meeting off and on for several weeks.

She and the boy have spent the last hour tucked back in one of the private reading rooms of the library because it’s one of the few places he can get in and out of without anyone seeing him, even when it’s busy. There’s a false wall that twists when you tap the right rhythm in it and it’s impossible to see if you don’t know it’s there. She’s not sure how he found it, but she’s stopped being surprised when he knows some obscure thing about Hogwarts. He may not know the public halls well but he’s got various secret passages and secrets etched into his memory.

“Really?” he asks and then looks a little worried, like she’ll start prying again. She _wants_ to but she knows the moment she starts, he’ll disappear for a week. It’s aggravating but she’s taken it as a challenge to figure out as much as she can just from observation, like in the nature studies she used to read before magic came into her life.

“Yes. I need to call you something in my thoughts or I’ll go mad. Have you ever tried to narrate in your head and gotten so lost in pronouns, you forget where you are?” By the bemused look on his face, she doubts it. Hermione rolls her eyes. “For all the trouble you cause me, I should call you something silly. Like _Delbert._ ”

His lip curls a bit. “Please don’t.”

“What about Huey?”

“Just because I wear glasses doesn’t mean-”

“Melville.”

“ _Ugh_.”

She laughs and shakes her head, thumbing through a few pages of her textbook. “Would you rather something more dramatic? I could call you the Great and Powerful Oz.”

“I could live with that,” he decides, trying to look solemn but his lips keep twitching into a near smile.

“I bet you could.” Hermione notes a few things down from her potions text book. “I might as well call you mandrake or wormwort for all it matters...”

“You could. I think I like that one.”

“What, mandrake?” She snorts. “You would, wouldn’t you? I’m not going.”

“That’s a pity,” he says cheerfully, “because it’s all I’m going to answer to.”

She gives him a flat look. “I am not calling you Mandrake. That is a terrible name. It sounds like the villain for a young adult novel.”

He grins.

\----

She ends up calling him Mandrake after all, but makes it well known that it is only a placeholder. Mandrake is still absolutely insufferable for the rest of the week.

 


End file.
